


it’s in your spine (let that be enough)

by absoluteares



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteares/pseuds/absoluteares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Porch swings, yo.</p>
    </blockquote>





	it’s in your spine (let that be enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Porch swings, yo.

they’re seven and rosewood’s buzzing with spring fever.  _be careful,_  her mother warns when aria stops by to see if emily can come out and play.  _she’s safe with me mrs. fields,_ aria says, a toothy grin and big bright eyes beaming with reassurance. 

they follow a warm breeze into the playground just across the street from the elementary school. aria closes her eyes, kicking her legs in front of her, then underneath to give the swing she’s on a quiet momentum. beside her, emily tugs gently on the chains of her own swing, content just to dig her heels in wood chips. a flag waves nearby, emitting a sort of musical clanking into the atmosphere. emily absently counts three beats. on four, she thinks of her father and smiles because she doesn’t know she’ll miss him soon.

there’s an increase in happy chatter as an ice cream truck stops at the corner. maybe that’s why neither of them hears the crunch of wood chips behind them.

_you’re on our swings._  


aria brings her swing to an abrupt stop, glancing first at a confused emily before taking a look over her own shoulder. a few boys wait expectantly and aria rolls her eyes, softly instructing emily to simply ignore them. but the boys don’t let up and suddenly emily finds herself lying in wood chips, thrown off the swing without a second thought. there’s laughter and for the first time it’s the kind that hurts.

quick to drop to her knees, aria helps emily sit up and does a quick scan for injuries.  _you okay?_  she asks, and emily’s too embarrassed to offer anything more than a nod. aria’s eyes flash with frustration. she stands tall then.

it’s through tear-brimmed eyes that emily watches aria slam her palm against the cheek of the offender. 

*

they end up on aria’s porch swing. emily’s afraid that if she goes home now, her mother will see her crying and never let her play with aria again. the thought stings more than the peroxide mrs. montgomery used to clean her scraped knees just a few minutes prior. 

_you didn’t have to hit him_ , emily whispers, even though aria’s mother is far out of earshot now. 

_i didn’t mean to_ , aria says almost solemnly. she’s examining her palm like it doesn’t belong to her.

emily sniffles a little, the embarrassment finally starting to leave her body.  _so why did you?_  


_he hurt you._  


emily’s eyes come up to meet aria’s. there’s a small quirk of the lips, as if aria means to say  _duh_. emily shifts on the bench, shakes the eye contact and smiles to herself. 

_does your hand hurt?_  


_not as much as his face does, i bet._  


emily giggles and that’s enough.

-

the montgomerys invite the fields (minus one) over for a fourth of july barbeque. after dinner, mike pesters his father to let him open a box of sparklers. aria takes emily by the hand, yelling over her shoulder that they’ll be outside. their mothers are in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine, echoing the premeditated  _be careful._  


they’re ten and climbing trees. it’s the first time aria convinces emily to join her. the biggest branch is sturdy and so they dangle their legs over it, sitting close together and watching the neighborhood light up with a setting sun and fireworks.

_you can borrow my dad_ , aria says, adjusting so she’s facing emily, one leg on either side of the branch and palms flat against the bark between them.

emily follows suit, moving to face aria and steadying herself, the branch still a bit shaky from their movements.  _he talks a lot._  


_yeah. he’s boring._  


_but he’s here._  


_i’m here._  


emily drops her head.  _i know._  


aria leans forward just as a summer breeze rolls in, presses a kiss to emily’s cheek. 

mike’s laughter comes hurtling through the yard, waving a sparkler in every direction.  _aria and emily sitting in a tree, a-b-c-d-_  


_mike!_ mrs. montgomery appears on the front step.  _stop teasing the girls_. her eyes drift up towards the tree.  _and you two come down from there. we’re having ice cream soon._  she smiles and mike follows her inside.

emily starts to climb down, finds herself distracted and falling the last few feet, scratching her palms on tree bark and landing on her back. aria jumps the rest of the way down and immediately reaches out to emily.  _you okay?_  


the truth of the matter is that, no, she isn’t. there’s heat building behind her eyes and she wishes it away but all she can hear is her father’s voice saying  _it’s okay to cry, baby. we all do it._  


emily tries to nod but she’s dizzy. aria helps her to her feet and leads her to the porch swing, kneeling down in front of her. she gently takes emily’s hands and turns them over, flinching empathetically at the sight of blood slowly oozing from her scratched palms.

a series of fireworks burst in the air, bigger and brighter now that the sun has gone. emily closes her eyes against the explosions as they grow in volume, her head starting to spin. she recalls the last time she saw her father, the night before he left for his second tour. she’d been huddled with her parents in their bed, listening to him promise that his night skies were always filled with pretty lights.

aria leaves for a moment and comes back with a damp rag and a box of power ranger band-aids. emily wants to laugh but she doesn’t seem to have the energy.

_do you think there are fireworks where my dad is?_  


aria looks up, and it takes a second for her to smile.  _yeah,_ she starts slowly, thinking as she cleans emily’s wounds.  _i bet they’re every color. and your dad is probably with his friends, um, drinking that gross smelling beer our dads like. and they’re laughing! yeah, because your dad keeps taking out that picture of you even though they’ve all seen it a trillion times._  


emily manages a sad smile. it’s a comforting image. it almost makes emily forget the stinging.  _and he’s safe?_  


_he’s safe._  


and that’s enough.

-

they’re thirteen and emily’s supposed to be helping aria with her math homework. but aria’s just had her first kiss (sweet holden, who really has no idea what he’s doing) and that takes precedent. 

emily’s the first person to hear about it and at first she’s excited. but they’re sitting on opposite sides of the porch swing with an unreadable distance between them. 

it’s a pivotal moment; the pull in her stomach causes the sight of aria to provide something other than comfort for once in their lives, and emily doesn’t know why.

emily wrings her hands together, frustrated suddenly because she can’t seem to stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss aria.

she wants to go home.

_it was silly_ , aria offers and it sounds like she has two people to convince.

there’s an implication emily won’t hear for years, but she stays anyway and that’s enough. 

-

they’re fourteen and aria watches with quiet disdain as alison dilaurentis becomes emily’s newest wound. 

she’s leaning against the porch railing, a mere onlooker. alison and emily are side by side on the porch swing and nothing about it sits right in aria’s chest. there are bigger things happening within her own household and yet the idea that someone else could -

alison studies the line between aria and emily, visible only to the trained eye. her eyes meet aria’s. there’s a beat and in an instant it seems as though alison deciphers a language that aria and emily are only just beginning to translate. 

aria feels as though she’s been robbed of something sacred. 

she swallows the feeling a hundred times over until alison leaves and she’s no clue as to what’s been said in the last hour or so. a chill rushes through and leaves start to fall. it’s a colorful whirlwind of change and aria’s terrified of embracing it. when she manages to peel her eyes from the porch floor, she can see alison’s smirk still burning bright with toxic promises, a phantom behind emily’s eyes. aria wants to scream  _but you’re my constant_  through gritted teeth.

emily smiles nervously and carves a tiny  _a.m. + e.f._  into the top plank of the porch swing.

and that’s enough.

-

(alison dies and takes with her a piece of everyone’s - but mostly emily’s - heart. aria doesn’t know how to say goodbye when her family has to leave. so she doesn’t.)

-

time blurs. aria returns to rosewood but doesn’t feel like she’s home. it feels like wars are breaking out everywhere and the dust will never settle. emily wakes up, finds there are tears in her eyes and a tugging in her chest.

they don’t turn away the next time they see each other.

-

they’re sixteen and emily stops at the bottom of aria’s porch step like she has for the last couple months since they reunited. she wants to laugh because aria has to stand a step higher to be at eye level, but the corners of her lips twitch with confusion instead. aria does laugh, though, and the sound is so affectionate that it soothes emily right down to her spine. 

the neighborhood is mostly dark (cold in a way everything else seems to be for weeks on end) and quiet when aria wraps her arms around emily’s neck and sort of falls into her grip, still laughing; the winter chill leaves both of their bodies. emily squeezes a little harder than she ever has, whispers  _please stay this time_  into aria’s hair. 

aria pulls back, eyes tired but hopeful. her fingers slide into emily’s hair and the touch is so intimate that emily’s eyes flutter shut. aria unconsciously closes her fingers around a few locks of emily’s hair, like she means to regain lost ground, to make up for all the time she wasn’t keeping emily safe. she leans forward then, presses an open kiss to emily’s lips and hopes it’s enough for now.

(it is.)

-

more warfare. the only lights in the skies now are rosewood’s police force.

-

they’re seventeen and rosewood’s buzzing with spring fever. there’s an illusion in the air, a fleeting thought that the seemingly constant grieving will be over soon. but emily keeps losing love everywhere she looks and so she finds her way back to aria’s porch swing, tracing her fingers over their initials, carvings fading along the the top plank like undying faith at its conceptual core.

_em?_ aria’s voice flutters in like the weathered butterfly emily’s watched her become.  _you okay?_  


emily nods, even shoots for the added  _yes_. it’s an unnecessary lie but she tells it anyway. she can feel aria’s eyes on her, closes her own when it gets to be too much. the swing rocks a little as aria scoots closer, settling her fingers inbetween emily’s without a second thought. 

_you know i love you._ it’s unprompted, gentle, certain. emily's mind starts to swim.

_don’t. i need you safe._  


_i’m safe with you,_  aria says, eyes shining like she means it. like this matters.

and that’s enough.

  
  



End file.
